


Torn By What We've Done And Can't Undo

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War Fix-It, Gen, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Really Character Death, potential WinterIron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Bucky Barnes is living a quiet life in Bucharest when his world is turned upside down twice within twenty-four hours.   Now nearly four thousand miles from home, he is called to face his past, pay a debt,  and begin again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Name of Piece: Torn By What We've Done And Can't Undo  
> Square Filled:  
> BBB - B4 - Regrets (Chapter 1)  
> TSB - K3 - Desert island (Chapter 2)  
> BBB - U5 - Forgiveness (Chapter 3)  
> BBB - U3 - Super Soldier Serum (Chapter 4)  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: ASSUMED character death, mild gore, brief reference to suicidal thoughts.  
> Summary: Bucky Barnes is living a quiet life in Bucharest when his world is turned upside down -- twice within twenty-four hours. Now nearly four thousand miles from home, he is called to face his past, pay a debt, and begin again.  
> [Pairing(s) TBD - possibly WinterIron]  
> Created for @buckybarnesbingo & @tonystarkbingo

Bucky didn’t have a television or read the papers much, but the walls of his Bucharest apartment were thin, and he couldn’t help but eavesdrop at hearing the English word “Avengers.” A moment later, praying he had had somehow misheard the radio announcer, he flew down the stairs. Bucky demanded that morning’s paper from the startled newsstand employee before barreling into a neighborhood bar that always seemed to have the news playing on an old, Soviet-era television. 

He pieced together the story on the attack in Lagos from multiple sources; while they differed in the details, one saying the Witch had redirected the explosion and saved dozens, if not hundreds of lives, another blamed her for the death and destruction left in the terrorists’ wake. Bucky finally saw the footage the next morning and confirmed where Steve Rogers was standing relative to the blast. “Captain America Presumed Dead in Bombing” the headlines now blared, and he couldn’t help but believe it to be true. 

Bucky spent the next few hours on autopilot, his mind consumed with regret. If he’d let Steve find him sooner or had gone to him, he could have been there. He could have been another pair of eyes in a sniper nest, another set of boots on the ground. He could have even pushed Steve out of the way if things had gotten to that. For a moment, Bucky wished that he could be the Soldier again, to not care about anything other than his mission. But he’d worked too hard to regain his memories and his sense of self. He couldn’t let Steve down, even if he’d never see him again. 

Caught up in his own thoughts, Bucky headed home. Climbing the stairs, he didn’t notice anything was wrong until it was too late. A red and gold metallic figure was standing in the hallway, just outside his apartment. He recognized who it was, of course; the whole world knew Iron Man. And Bucky knew why he must be here. 

Tony Stark was a genius; it was no surprise to Bucky that he’d have put together the puzzle pieces that proved the Winter Soldier had assassinated Howard Stark and his wife. And now with Steve gone, there was no one to prevent him from claiming retribution. Bucky might have covered his tracks well enough to elude Captain America, but with the resources Iron Man had behind him, it clearly hadn’t been difficult for him to run down his quarry. 

But Bucky was tired of running, tired of fighting. Tired of the memories of all the blood he had spilled. He’d resisted the desire to take his own life (if only for Steve’s sake), but he wouldn’t put up much resistance against whatever Stark had in mind for revenge. 

Iron Man took a step toward him and held out a hand as he intoned, “Come with me if you want to live.” That was the last thing Bucky had expected his adversary to say; he was stunned speechless. After a moment of silence, the faceplate of the armor slid back to reveal its pilot. 

“Okay, so you’re not an Arnold fan. I suppose ‘I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you,’ won’t ring a bell either. Let’s try this. In about, oh, ten minutes, a buncha guys are going to storm this building to arrest you. And by ‘arrest’, I mean that , given your reputation, most likely that they’re going to shoot first and explain later. I suggest we get out of here instead.” 

Bucky latched on to the most important part of Stark’s verbal outpouring. “What do they want me for?” 

“Apparently you bombed a UN meeting in Vienna this morning.” 

“It wasn’t me. I don’t do that anymore.” The second sentence was a lie, no matter how much he wanted it to be true. He hadn’t done what Stark had said, of course, but he had killed to get where he was now, and he would do it again. Bucky would do whatever he had to in order to remain free of Hydra, free of anyone who would try to turn him back into a weapon. 

“Didn’t figure you had,” Stark responded, then added with an impatient air, “So, are you coming with or not?” Bucky didn’t feel he had a choice. Whether Stark was telling the truth or not, this location was obviously compromised. At least he seemed to be interested in keeping Bucky alive for the moment. 

“Just a sec.” Bucky kicked the door of his apartment in, walked over to the corner and punched down through the floorboards with his metal fist to grab the backpack he’d hidden there. Even if he were going to his own execution, he wanted to be able to show that he was no longer a tool, a weapon; that he’d regained his humanity. 

Bucky didn’t realize Stark had followed him into the apartment until he caught a flash of red and gold picking something off the table. “Why did you come here?” he asked the Avenger. 

Stark handed over a picture of Steve that had fallen out of one of Bucky's notebooks. “Because of him.” Cocking his head as if listening to an earpiece, he added, “We need to go. Now.” 

 

Bucky felt the vibrations as they scaled the last set of stairs to the roof and could smell the exhaust. Stark might have retro-reflectors and sound dampening technology, but he couldn’t completely hide a quinjet, especially from someone with enhanced senses. That said, Bucky was still impressed; landing on the roof of this small apartment building took serious skill. Stark murmured something into his helmet; and just as a hatch opened up out of nowhere, a burst of agony exploded in Bucky’s right thigh and he went down. 

Before he could even finish the thought that Stark had set him up, bringing him to the roof to avoid possible collateral damage, a metal hand closed around his bicep and pulled him none-too-gently to his feet. “C’mon, Sarge. Let’s blow this popstand.” Bucky moved as quickly as he could towards the quinjet, with Stark shielding him from the sniper. Bullets pinged off the suit as well as the plane; clearly whoever was shooting wasn’t on Stark’s side after all. 

The cabin space in the jet was cramped, especially once Bucky stretched out across the seats. While the bullet seemed to have missed his femoral artery, his leg was bleeding freely. Stark threw a wad of cloth at him, barking out to hold it over the wound and to hang on because they were going up hot. 

Bucky’s respect for the pilot only increased as they made a hasty retreat out of firing range, taking off at a steep angle and weaving between the few skyscrapers of the city before heading out over the Black Sea. Once the plane leveled off and he could let go of his grip on the back of the seat, Bucky ran his hand over the rest of his thigh to confirm there was no exit wound. 

Stark had been standing at the rear of the cabin during their escape, hands braced against both bulkheads. As the faceplate and gloves of his armor smoothly retracted, he squeezed past Bucky to lean his head into the cockpit. “Nat, where’s the first aid kit in this thing?” 

Bucky froze as a voice from his past responded, “Starboard front, above the weapons locker.” He hadn’t recognized Romanova in Odessa or during the gun fight in the capital; but he remembered her now. Unfortunately, her presence would only complicate the current situation.

“Thanks. Call ahead with our ETA and tell Helen she’s got herself another patient.” Stark called out as he pulled the kit from its niche. He opened it and dug around a bit before pulling out a syringe. “Here’s something for the pain, Barnes. Probably make you sleepy, too.” 

Bucky stiffened as he tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. “No. No needles.” 

Stark frowned, but put the syringe away. “Fair enough. Can I check to see if the bleeding has stopped?” He waited for Bucky’s nod, then slowly peeled back the blood-soaked cloth. 

The wound had already clotted, and Bucky wasn’t looking forward to what had to come next. “Need to get the bullet out before I heal around it,” he explained, “the sooner, the better.” 

“Sounds like the voice of experience,” Stark replied dryly. “Need a hand?” 

“I take it you ain’t squeamish?” 

“Not any more,” was Stark’s cryptic reply as he pulled a set of forceps out of the kit. “Hm - let’s shed a little light on the situation.” A bright beam shone out from the edge of Stark’s helmet, orienting itself as he leaned over Bucky’s leg. Clenching his teeth, Bucky mustered every ounce of concentration he could to keep still as Stark started probing for the bullet. “X-ray vision would sure come in handy right now. Add that to the list of upgrades, would you, Fri?” 

“Will do, boss.” An Irish-tinged contralto responded, surprising Bucky into a flinch. 

“Steady there, soldier,” Tony placed a reassuring hand on Bucky’s knee. “She’s on our side. Meet my right hand gal, Friday. She’s an artificial intelligence that, among many, many other things, helps me pilot the suit.” 

“Mister Barnes,” the computer’s voice had suddenly gone icy. 

“We talked about this already, Fri. Be nice.” Stark sounded as if he were speaking to a misbehaving child, stern, but affectionate. 

“But Boss, how can ye--” 

“Enough,” Stark interrupted. “I told you. Extenuating circumstances -- we need him.” 

“Hmph. Very well.” Friday went silent, and Stark shrugged apologetically. 

“What can I say? She’s on the protective side. Now, let’s finish this up.” The agony of digging into the wound wiped away Bucky’s concern about what Stark had said to his computer companion, about needing him. The bullet was finally found and extracted, with Stark setting it aside and telling his AI to compare it against a database of ammo. He briskly bandaged the wound before handing Bucky a bottle. “Here. Replace some of what you lost with this.” It was one of the sports drinks that American athletes were so fond of promoting; vaguely fruity and slippery on the tongue. Bucky drank the entire bottle in a few quick gulps.

“Thank you, he slurred, more than a little fuzzy from the pain and overall adrenaline crash. “I’m so sorry I put you through so much.”

Stark gave him a mildly confused look. “Well, it’s not like you got shot on purpose.”

“I mean for what I did, before. When they sent me after your--“

“Stop.” Stark roughly cut him off. “We are not having this conversation. Not without a copious amount of alcohol at my disposal and maybe not even then.” His reaction only confirmed that he knew what the Soldier had done. Bucky caught a glimpse of Stark’s face, wracked with emotion, before he turned away. “We’re still a few hours out from our destination. Better get some rest.” 

The other man sat with his back to Bucky, clearly calling an end to their interaction. And despite all the questions whirling through his brain, Bucky closed his eyes, letting the wave of exhaustion drag him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who might have skipped over the tags - Steve is NOT DEAD. I wouldn't do that to Bucky or to my readers. There will be a happy ending - even if I haven't quite figured out what it is yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken to a remote location, and placed under the care of Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes learns why Tony Stark came for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name of Piece: Torn By What We've Done And Can't Undo  
> Square Filled: Chapter 1 BBB B4 - Regrets; Chapter 2: TSB K3 - Desert Island  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: ASSUMED character death, mild gore, brief reference to suicidal thoughts.  
> Summary: Bucky Barnes is living a quiet life in Bucharest when his world is turned upside down -- twice within twenty-four hours. Now nearly four thousand miles from home, he is called to face his past, pay a debt, and begin again.  
> [Pairing(s) TBD]  
> Created for @buckybarnesbingo & @tonystarkbingo

<”We’re here. Get up.”> The harsh Russian words jarred Bucky from a deep, dreamless sleep into a disoriented wakefulness. He had no idea where they were, hadn’t even felt the plane land. He opened his eyes to see Romanova standing over him, a wary look on her face. 

_“Vdova,”_ he said, acknowledging her by her title. 

“When I have to be,” she answered evenly, in English. “The _Soldat_?” 

“As dead as I can make him.” He spoke the truth; he’d made every effort to eliminate his former identity from his psyche, but Bucky knew there was the possibility that the Soldier could be resurrected by someone with the control sequence or the chair, and he would be nothing more than a weapon once again. 

Her posture relaxed slightly. “I still do not approve,” she stated, “but needs must. Follow me.” Bucky rose to his feet slowly, using the cabin walls to steady himself and wincing at the bright sunlight streaming through the hatch. 

Bucky stumbled as his feet hit sand, but Romanova slid smoothly under his arm, aiming him toward a low slung building that sprawled under a canopy of trees. Camouflaged from casual view, its sleek lines betrayed its origin. “Stark had this built here, didn’t he?” Bucky asked. 

“I would assume.” Romanov remained silent for the rest of their walk across the clearing, giving him a few minutes to reconnoiter. He’d smelled the salt in the air from the moment the hatch opened, and the position of the sun combined with his internal clock told him they hadn’t traveled very far east or west. Assuming the quinjet’s standard cruising speed, the roughly five hour flight would put them somewhere on (or off - no indications that they weren’t on an island) the east coast of Africa, somewhere between Somalia and Mozambique. The unfamiliar, but clearly tropical foliage was another confirmation that they had traveled far and fast. 

Despite her chilly demeanor, Romanov was patient, letting him take his time to cross the clearing and step up onto the porch. They entered the building only to be met by another familiar face. It was the man with the flying jetpack who had fought by Steve’s side both in the capital and Lagos. Bucky now knew who he was: Sam Wilson, a decorated Army vet who served in a pararescue unit. 

“So, Tony found you after all,” Wilson said by way of greeting. His eyes flicked down to Bucky’s bandaged leg, then up to Romanov. “And just in time, it seems.” 

“Took some fire as we were leaving, but I’m pretty sure we weren’t followed. We need to go back right away -- can you take charge of Barnes, Sam?” 

“Sure. I’ll give ‘im a once-over and save Doctor Cho some work.” Their casual exchange sent a chill up Bucky’s spine. After nearly three years of freedom and independence, had he simply walked right back into servitude? No -- these were people that Steve had trusted with his life; he could to do the same. Wilson reached out a hand and beckoned, “C’mon, this way.” 

Bucky used the wall for support as he limped down the short hallway and around the corner. Wilson opened the door to what looked like a hotel room. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.” Bucky sat on the bed and waited, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. 

Wilson returned after a moment with a medkit and some folded clothing in one hand and another bottle of the same brand of sports beverage in the other, this time bright blue. “I know, I know, but it doesn’t taste half bad and you probably need the fluids.” 

Bucky finished the drink, then said, “Before you start, I want to apologize. For everything that I did in Washington DC.” 

“You know, I still haven’t decided whether those couple of days were the worst ones of my life or not,” Wilson replied. “But its definitely up there.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Bucky a long, hard look. Of course, I can’t imagine it was a picnic for you either.” Wilson paused, perhaps to see if Bucky wanted to add anything, then gestured towards Bucky’s leg. 

“Can I take a look? I used to be an Army medic.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Wilson was careful as he skillfully cut away what remained of Bucky’s pant leg and Stark’s hastily-applied wrappings. He shook his head with a disbelieving snort as he examined the wound. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a couple of days old, not a couple of hours.” He looked up at Bucky with a half-smile. “I kinda wanna be jealous, but I read a little about what you been through, and I think I’ll pass on the super-healing powers.” 

“Smart choice.” Bucky could already see what Steve liked about Wilson; he was loyal as the day was long, but with a bit of sass around the edges. The momentary stab of jealousy was quickly tempered by the realization that Wilson must be mourning the loss of his friend as well. Once the cleaning and re-bandaging of his leg was done, Bucky spoke up. “Can I ask you about Lagos?” 

Wilson paused for a moment, his face going grave. “What do you want to know?” 

“What happened? How did...?” Bucky couldn’t finish, the question sticking in his throat. 

“Turned out it was that asshole, Rumlow.” Bucky nodded grimly. He’d heard through the grapevine that the turncoat had survived the Triskelion, albeit with disfiguring scars. He’d considered going after him himself, but the risk of getting recaptured by Hydra was too high. 

“He . . . got in under Steve’s defenses.” From the look on Wilson’s face, there was more to it, but Bucky let him continue. “Wanda did everything she could to control and redirect the blast. Used her last bit of hocus-pocus so we could bring Steve with us.”

As a fellow soldier, Wilson understood that you don’t leave the fallen behind. “So, that’s why the news said ‘Presumed Dead’, ” Bucky replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. “They couldn’t find his body.” 

“It seemed easier in the moment,” Wilson explained. “Besides, we weren’t sure if he was even going to make it. I still don’t know how Tony got Doctor Cho here so fast.” 

Surely Bucky had misunderstood what Wilson was saying. “Wait. Do you mean...?” 

In another situation, the look of surprise on Wilson’s face would almost have been funny. “You mean no one told you? He’s in rough shape, but yeah, your boy is still around.” 

Bucky didn’t know whether to throw his arms around Wilson in a bear hug, or go find Stark and punch him. He opted to do neither, simply replying, “No, I didn’t know. Stark and I . . . didn’t talk much during the flight.” 

“And Nat will claim she was busy flying. Yeah, I think she still resents you having shot her. I’m sorry, man. I thought you knew or I would have said something first thing.” Wilson seemed genuinely contrite, and Bucky warmed to him even more. “Steve's still out like a light, but do you want to go see him?” 

Nearly overcome with emotion, Bucky's voice cracked as he replied,

“Please.” 

Wilson patted the stack of clothing he’d brought in. “Get dressed. I’ll wait just outside.”

 

The room was dimly lit and filled with equipment that had a vague resemblance to Hydra’s labs, making chills run up and down Bucky’s spine. Steve -- unnaturally still and as pale as a ghost -- was encased from his neck down in what looked like a high-tech iron lung. 

After getting a wordless go-ahead from Sam, Bucky stepped up close. “You ain’t lookin’ any better since the last time I saw ya, pal,” he murmured, smoothing Steve’s hair back off his forehead, carefully avoiding the swath of bandages covering nearly half his face. 

“So that was you dragged him out of the river,” Sam said, but before he could ask why Bucky hadn’t stuck around, a petite Asian woman wearing a lab coat strode into the room as if she owned it. 

She checked a couple of readouts before turning towards the two of them. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Doctor Cho.” 

Although they looked nothing alike, Bucky was somehow reminded of Agent Carter as he took the doctor’s proffered hand. “Nice to meet you,” he answered automatically. 

“How is your leg?” 

“Hurts, but getting better. Stark got the bullet out, and Wilson gave it a look-see.” She turned with a questioning look toward Sam. 

“Looks like it’s about three days healed; no sign of infection so far. Tony guessed maybe a pint total of blood loss.” 

Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “I see. “ 

“What’s the latest on Steve?” Sam asked.

Doctor Cho frowned. “Still having trouble getting him stable enough for the regeneration cradle to do its work. I’m hoping you can help with that, Sergeant.” 

“I dunno how, ma’am,” he replied politely. “I don’t have any medical training.” 

She smiled slightly. “I was referring to the enhancements that you and the Captain share. Standard blood transfusions aren’t doing a whole lot of good; the red and white blood cells are breaking down within a few hours. We’d like to see if your blood type is compatible enough to allow for a transfusion.” 

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.” Bucky pushed down the panic at the thought of more medical experiments, even as he started rolling up his sleeve. This was different, this was for Steve. 

“Just a few samples to start with,’ she responded, then eyed him closely. “When was your last meal?” 

Bucky thought back; he couldn’t remember eating breakfast, as he’d been too distracted by the news, and Stark had come for him right around lunchtime. Before he could reply, his stomach growled loudly. 

“I think that’s answer enough,” the doctor responded with another small smile. “Go eat and rest once we’re done here. You’ve got some healing to do as well.” 

Doctor Cho was patient with him as they worked through taking the samples. She explained every single step, waiting for his acknowledgement and assent before proceeding, which went a long way towards making him feel more comfortable. Sam busied himself with checking some of the equipment, but Bucky suspected he was mostly making sure he wouldn’t cause any trouble. 

Once she finished, Doctor Cho said, “That’s all for now, Sergeant. Thank you.” 

“Thank you, Doctor. And please, call me Bucky.” 

“Then I am Helen.” She gave him a small bow before exiting the room. 

“Ready to get something to eat?” Sam asked. Bucky took one more long look at Steve before following his new friend out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toldja Steve wasn't dead. And yes, it's slightly ironic that the chapter that ties to the Tony Stark Bingo doesn't actually have any Tony it it. He'll re-appear before the end of the fic, tho. 
> 
> Comments and kudos help feed the muse -- you can come chat with me on [ Tumblr ](polizwrites.tumblr.com) or find me on Discord as PoliZ.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky have a meal and a chat, then Natasha tracks Bucky down for a revealing conversation. The next morning, another set of memories shakes loose.  
> (Bucky Barnes Bingo - Square U5 - Forgiveness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name of Piece: Torn By What We've Done And Can't Undo  
> Square Filled:  
> BBB - B4 - Regrets (Chapter 1)  
> TSB - K3 - Desert island (Chapter 2)  
> BBB - Square U5 - Forgiveness (Chapter 3)  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: ASSUMED character death, mild gore, brief reference to suicidal thoughts.  
> Summary: Bucky Barnes is living a quiet life in Bucharest when his world is turned upside down -- twice within twenty-four hours. Now nearly four thousand miles from home, he is called to face his past, pay a debt, and begin again.  
> [Pairing(s) TBD - possibly WinterIron]  
> Created for @buckybarnesbingo & @tonystarkbingo

Bucky was still limping, but no longer needed the support of a nearby wall as they walked down another hallway to a large, well-appointed kitchen. The adjoining dining area had large windows that looked out on the beach where the sun was not far from setting. Sam pulled some cans and boxed goods out of a pantry. “Gotta fend for ourselves. Not like there’s pizza delivery out here.” 

“S’long as it’s not field rations, I’m game,” Bucky replied. “Where is ‘here’, anyways?” 

“A private island in the Seychelles, off the coast of eastern Africa.” 

“‘That’s about what I figured.” At Sam’s surprised expression, Bucky explained how he’d estimated their whereabouts. 

Sam shook his head in amusement. “Steve said you were a smart guy, but I figured he was just talking you up.” 

Bucky shrugged. “Science and geography were my best subjects, though I used to ask Steve to sketch my diagrams and maps for me. Does he still like to draw?” 

“Yeah, he does,” Sam grinned. “At first I thought he just doodled, but then when we were in the Jura mountains, he whips out this amazing landscape sketch like it was nothing.” That seemed to have broken the ice, and the two of them fell into a comfortable conversation. 

As they prepared and ate a simple meal of pasta and vegetables, Sam carefully talked around the fact that he and Steve had spent a good portion of the last three years looking for Bucky, and Bucky in turn avoided coming right out and saying that he’d been hiding from them intentionally. 

At first Bucky had gone on the run simply out of fear that something or someone would trigger the compulsion to finish the Soldier’s mission. As he became more himself, shame and remorse took center stage; he was no longer worthy to be Steve’s friend. Those same feelings washed over him again, redoubled now that he realized what Sam had given up as well. 

Bucky needed some time alone, to process everything that had happened since he woke up just the morning before. “Think anyone would mind if I went for a little walk?” Bucky still wasn’t sure what his status was: guest or prisoner or something in between. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem if you don’t mind bugs. The place is deserted except for us and an assistant Doctor Cho brought with her.” 

“No guards?” The question slipped out before Bucky had a chance to regret it. 

Sam shook his head. “Tony’s tech is a heck of a watchdog.” 

“Speaking of whom, where’d Stark go?” Bucky wanted to thank his host, not only for saving his skin back in Bucharest, but for giving him the chance to help Steve recover. Whether or not he’d let Bucky apologize and try to make amends for killing his parents, well, that was something they needed to talk about as well. 

“Said he had some unfinished business to deal with, and he’d be back when he could.” Sam didn’t seem too concerned, so Bucky followed his lead. 

As they stood and started gathering the dishes, Bucky said, “I’d offer to help wash, but...” he wiggled the fingers of his left hand, startling a laugh out of his companion. It actually wasn’t a problem if he put a rubber glove on first, but he’d leave that revelation for another day. 

“Naw, man. I got it. Go get some fresh air.”

“Thanks, Sam. And .... I gotta say it again. I’m sorry.” 

Sam gave him that same long, searching look from before. “That was Hydra. You didn’t have a choice.” 

“I know. But I did it.” 

“And now you’ve got a chance to make up for it -- starting with helping get Steve back on his feet. We’ll figure out the rest after that.” 

 

Being so close to the equator, the sky darkened quickly after sunset, and the crescent moon shed only a little light. But it didn’t take Bucky’s eyes long adjust to the darkness, and he was soon walking out on the beach and along the water. His leg started complaining after about a half-mile, so he found a convenient rock outcropping and sat down so he could look at the sky. 

He hadn’t spent much time in the southern hemisphere, so the stars -- bright and numerous -- were unfamiliar. Almost as unfamiliar was the sense of acceptance, of consideration that nearly everyone he’d encountered had offered him. While Doctor Cho (Helen, she had said to call her Helen) might not know better, Sam had seen what the Soldier was capable of firsthand. And Stark, well, he had his proof as well. As for Romanov....

As if summoned, a shape separated itself from the darkness under the trees and walked slowly toward him, clearly allowing her approach to be seen. A wise move, all things considered. She glanced at a spot on the sand near, but not too near him, then raised an eyebrow. Bucky nodded, and she sat down in a single, graceful move. 

“In Odessa,” she began, “you looked right at me, right through me, without a shred of recognition. You raised your gun as if I were nothing but a paper target.”

He remembered the look of shock, of betrayal on her face. It hadn’t meant a thing to him at the time, but he’d written pages about the event once it came back to him in Bucharest. “Natalya, I’m so sorry --” he began.

She put up a hand, as if to silence him. “Let me finish. It was in that moment I realized they had lied. That you were not simply a Russian soldier who had been captured, tortured and brainwashed by the Americans. They told us you had lost your memory and your arm as a result, and we were never to ask you about either.” 

While her voice was calm and measured, Natalya’s hands were clenched tightly in her lap, betraying her true state of mind. “But there you were, not looking any older than when I’d last seen you a decade before, and you did not remember me.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You were something special, that much was clear. But whoever held your leash had hollowed you out once more.” 

In the moonlight, her eyelashes sparkled with unshed tears; Bucky felt his own eyes prickling as well. “I swore I would find you, unravel the mystery. But they hid you well, leaving so few clues behind. I was tracking down an old comrade who I believed would have information on your true identity when you resurfaced and shot Nick Fury.”

“And then I tried to kill you again, ” Bucky interrupted, bile rising in his throat. “You, and Sam and Steve. And if I’d succeeded, thousands more would have died.” 

“That is true.” Her simple acknowledgement of his actions and the potential impact -- something that Sam hadn’t really done and Steve would never do -- somehow made the overwhelming guilt easier to bear. They were both silent for a moment.

“Once Steve healed,” Natalya continued, “he was ready to burn down every Hydra base he could uncover in his search for you. But I thought I knew better. I showed him my research, everything they had done to replace James Buchanan Barnes, leaving only the Soldat. I hoped he would realize that the odds of you recovering and becoming the man he once knew, were . . . not so good.” 

“And I betcha the only reason he didn’t tell ya just where you could stick those odds was because you’re a lady.” Bucky’s native Brooklyn drawl came easy to him, even after all those years. After all, it had been the accent his inner voice used, the one that helped lead him back to himself. 

Her lips quirked in a small, wry grin. “You’re quite probably right. But I wasn’t sure who you had become. How much you remembered, or if any vestige of your mission remained. Surely you had a reason for remaining so elusive.” She stopped, then dipped her head slightly, as if in shame. “I was planning to fly to Vienna with Tony, but I discovered you had left your backpack in the jet. I stayed, and Friday and I went through your notebooks.” 

Bucky was stung that his privacy had been so invaded, but it had been the logical thing to do. “Gathering intel -- you were always the smart one, Natashenka.” 

She looked back up at him, a hint of a smile belying the sadness in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yasha. If I had realized you were still in there, known before who you truly were . . . I would have moved heaven and earth to get you home.” 

He caressed her cheek, now wet with tears. “I know.” 

 

Bucky awoke the next morning to chimes that were just enough out of tune to set his teeth on edge. “You are expected in the medical suite at 10:00 sharp,” announced Stark’s AI. “That gives you one hour, Sergeant Barnes. Use it well. Doctor Cho recommends a breakfast high in protein and carbohydrates. ” 

He hurried through his morning ablutions, and when he arrived at the kitchen, Bucky was pleasantly surprised to see Sam already at the stove. “Breakfast is almost ready,” he commented over his shoulder. “Eggs and pancakes coming right up.” 

“You’re spoiling me, Sam.” 

“Not as much as you’d think. The eggs and milk are both powdered, there’s no butter, the syrup is fake and the pancakes are from a mix.” 

“At least there’s coffee.” Bucky poured himself a mugful, then topped off Sam’s cup near the stove.

“Well, we’re not heathens.” 

They ate quickly, the eggs becoming more palatable when Sam pulled out a bottle of hot sauce. “Best part of any MRE,” he commented, and after a few bites, Bucky agreed. 

It was nearly the top of the hour before they were done; when Bucky stood to leave, Sam asked, “Want me to come with you?” 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

 

Upon seeing the gurney placed placed close by the contraption Steve was in, Bucky froze in the doorway. The complicated, yet somehow familiar piece of equipment inbetween them triggered a flood of memories, which crashed over and nearly drowned him. 

Sam took hold of Bucky’s elbow to steady him. “Hey, man, you all right?” 

_< ”The other soldiers.”>_ Bucky murmured, his mouth gone dry with dread as his pulse thudded in his ears. Sam closed the door, leaving them alone in the hallway. 

“Okay, I recognized one of those words,” A note of concern crept into Sam’s voice, even as his tone remained composed and his grip on Bucky’s arm firmed. “But I’m gonna need you to speak English from here on out.” 

“They were volunteers, five of them. All Hydra.” Bucky replied, fighting to keep his own voice calm. “They were given the super-soldier serum that Stark had created.”

“Hold on,” Sam interrupted. “Tony never said anything about a serum.” 

“Not him. His father, twenty-five years ago. I was sent to retrieve it, and eliminate him. Make it look like an accident.” Bucky nearly choked on his next words. “The crash didn’t kill him or his wife. I had to do it myself.” 

“Oh my god. Does Tony know?” Sam’s eyes went wide, his fingers digging involuntarily into Bucky’s arm.

“Pretty sure he does, at least about what I did to his parents. I don’t know who else knows about the other soldiers.” Bucky closed his eyes, ransacking his memories for any useful details. He made an urgent writing gesture, unable to spare the words for a request. 

“Just a sec.” Sam stepped away, and a few moments later, a clipboard and pen were pressed into his hands. 

The Soldier’s homing instinct guiding him, Bucky jotted down what he hoped were the correct coordinates. “The other soldiers were considered too unstable to deploy on covert missions. They were put on ice here,” he tapped the page, “at a former missile silo in Siberia, where Hydra had a full cryo facility. I hope like hell they’re still there.” 

Sam took the clipboard with a grim look. “I’ll pass this along to Tony’s AI - see what else we can dig up and go from there.” He looked Bucky up and down, his brow wrinkled with worry. “You need a little time to get your feet back under you?” 

Bucky appreciated Sam’s attentiveness, but he had a mission to finish. Digging down inside for the bravado that had gotten him through so many moments in his life, he replied, “Let’s get this done and over with. Besides, it ain’t the first time I’ve shed blood for Steve.”

Sam snorted. “I get that, believe me.” His brow smoothed out, but he was still clearly concerned. “How about once you get situated, you tell me a coupla those stories? Steve said you two were always getting in scraps when you were kids.” 

“Nine times out of ten it was that punk’s fault,” Bucky muttered. 

“That sounds about right. You ready?” 

“Yeah.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Cho and her assistant perform the apheresis procedure on Bucky and Steve; dark thoughts take Bucky over and he escapes into the forest once it’s done. When he returns to the compound, Tony Stark is waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There is a medical procedure in this chapter that involves blood and needles, but it is not described in detail.

Sam opened the door, and as they stepped in, Doctor Cho met them with a quizzical look. “Is everything all right, gentlemen?” 

“Just had to touch base on something first,” Sam replied with a reassuring smile. 

Not looking completely convinced, she turned to Bucky. “I’d like to walk you through what we have planned before we get started. We’ll be following an apheresis protocol, separating out the components of the blood we need to treat Captain Rogers before returning the rest to you. This will be less of a shock to your system than a whole blood donation would be, however, it will take about twice as long, and requires two needles instead of one.” 

“I understand.” Bucky reached for the calm, focused mindset of his time as a sniper, willing his pulse to slow, to neither fight nor flee, but rather to cooperate. He needed to do this, needed to help Steve. The doctor -- Helen -- was on his side, finding the best solution to the situation. 

Helen went on to introduce her assistant, Min-ji. “She’s very familiar with this procedure and will do her best to make you comfortable. I’ll be monitoring Captain Rogers’ progress.” She turned to Sam. “And you’ll be staying as well?” 

“Yeah -- Bucky’s got some stories about Steve I wanna hear.” Sam glanced over to Bucky, one eyebrow slightly raised. Bucky nodded in reply, letting them both know he was ready to go through with the procedure. 

His nerves kicked up a little as he lay down on the gurney; Bucky had to remind himself that no one would be strapping him down or forcing a rubber bite guard into his mouth. Min-ji’s excellent bedside manner -- asking permission before touching him and explaining each step as they went along -- also helped reinforce that Bucky was participating of his own choice. 

Bucky wondered to what extent Min-ji been briefed on who he was; as she hadn’t blinked an eye at his metal arm, nor had she commented on the scars on his flesh arm left behind by careless techs. Once both needles were placed -- the first in the back of his hand, the second in the crook of his arm -- she covered him with a warm, soft blanket. “The plasma comes back a few degrees cooler than your normal body temperature,” she explained. “Let us know if you need anything.” 

Sam pulled up a chair and sat down. “Steve said you guys met as kids?” Bucky told the tale of seeing a scrawny kid yelling at two boys nearly twice his size, calling them out for trying to tie firecrackers to a cat’s tail. He waded in when the kid got pushed to the ground, and one of the boys drew back his foot for a kick. 

“Figured I oughta try to even the odds, at least. Little did I know how talented that punk was at gettin’ into scrapes like that.” 

Sam nodded. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” He then proceeded to recount how he and Steve met; the story drawing chuckles from Bucky. He could just imagine the grin on Steve’s face as he called out ‘on your left’ yet again, and how tickled he must have been when Sam played along. 

“I’m glad he found you.” Bucky meant it; while he still felt a few twinges of jealousy, he couldn’t begrudge Steve having made a friend when he’d needed one the most. 

“So am I. Never a dull moment around him, that’s for sure.” Sam told a few more stories of their adventures together as the machine that connected Bucky to his oldest, best friend whirred and clicked. He realized with a chill that he didn’t know just how badly Steve had been injured. Had he lost an arm as well? Bucky couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

Even as Sam was clearly trying to provide a distraction, having moved on to stories about his own days in the army, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what Steve’s new team was planning to do next. Bucky was a criminal; even if he wasn’t responsible for the bombing Stark had mentioned. It only made sense for them to hand him over to the authorities, make sure he was brought to justice. 

Darker thoughts started digging their claws into Bucky’s mind; What about the next time Steve was badly hurt? Maybe Stark was planning on keeping Bucky around, just in case of another emergency. Put him back in cryo til they needed him again -- Sam had mentioned in passing how they’d uncovered the Hydra facilities in DC. It would be a fitting punishment. Bucky tried to focus on the little kindnesses that Sam had shown him, how truly sorry Natalya had seemed, but Stark seemed to be running the show, and there was no reason for him to show Bucky any consideration. 

Just about two hours had passed when Helen came over to tell him the procedure was complete. “We’re seeing positive results, but it will probably take several more hours to confirm the success of the transfusion. Make sure you have something substantial to eat and get some more rest. If we need anything more, I’ll let you know.” 

“Thank you.” Bucky was lightheaded and a little wobbly as he rose to his feet, but he made a beeline for the exit. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape his fate, but he had to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair before whatever came next. 

“Hold up,” Sam made a grab for his arm. “Where you going?” 

Bucky swatted Sam’s hand away more gently than his instincts told him to and ignored the question, afraid of the words that might tumble out if he opened his mouth. A few moments later, he was outside, feet pounding down an unexplored path before veering off into the trees. He made it a few dozen yards through the underbrush before his legs gave out. He crawled, panting to the nearest large tree, putting his back to it as he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. 

Several minutes later, Bucky heard the high whine of a drone approaching. He ducked his head into his arms in the childish hope that if he couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see him. It came to a stop close by, but instead of the sharp sting of tranquilizer darts, Bucky felt something hit the ground next to him. He opened his eyes to see the same blanket he’d just been using, with another bottle of that damn sports drink in the middle, along with some protein bars. 

“Tony just called in; he’s on his way back.” Sam’s voice came out of the birdlike drone. “Wants to talk to you, but you’ve got a few hours.” He paused. “It’s gonna be okay, man. We’ll figure things out.” Bucky felt the back of his neck grow hot; he was ashamed of his overreaction. It was one thing to be wary of what the future might hold, but quite another to think that Sam would just stand back and let any further injustice happen. 

“I assume you can find your way back when you’re ready?”

“Yeah. And thanks. For everything.” 

“Anytime,” came the warm reply. After the drone flew off, Bucky picked up the bottle (this time filled with a vivid orange liquid) and carefully read the label. Sure enough, the company was a division of Stark Industries. Bucky felt a huff of laughter well up within; maybe things would work out all right after all. After finishing the snacks the drone had delivered, he folded and rolled the blanket into a pillow, tucked it behind his head and stretched out his legs, letting every muscle relax and his thoughts unwind. 

When Bucky awoke, the sunlight through the trees had turned golden; he’d slept the afternoon away undisturbed, which he took as a good sign. He found his way back to the path, and within just a few minutes, was approaching the compound. Stark was waiting for him on the broad porch, seated with a cigar in one hand, and a glass in the other. A half-full bottle, along with an ice bucket, an ashtray and another glass were on a table next to him. 

“Okay, Barnes. First things first. Much like you, Cap is out of the woods now. Helen said he’s stabilized and the regeneration cradle has started doing its thing, so thanks for that. Next order of business, we got the guy.” 

“What guy?” 

“The not-you who bombed the UN meeting. Turns out that while he had a photostatic veil magic mask thingy that made him look like James Barnes, he doesn’t move like you. Friday pointed out his gait is all different. You’ve got that model on a runway murder strut thing going, and he walks like a soldier. Which, apparently he was. Helmut Zemo, Sokovian special forces. Ring a bell?” 

Bucky shook his head; he remembered his time in Sokovia, but there had been no missions. 

“Anyway, Fri and I unleashed the same CCV camera hack we used to find you in order to track this bastard down. He was hanging out with a Doctor Theo Broussard. And by ‘hanging out’ I mean had trussed the guy up in his own hotel room and was putting the finishing touches on an altered version of the good doctor’s credentials. Turns out this Broussard is one of the top guys in his field when it comes psychoanalyzing terrorists. My guess is if they’d managed to bring you in from that raid on your apartment, he would have been the one to have a little chat with you. But of course it wouldn’t have been the real doctor, but Zemo.” 

“Why would he do all that?” Bucky asked. 

“Well, you see, he also had this.” Stark held up a book bound in oxblood leather, the horribly familiar black star embossed on the cover a match to the red one still emblazoned on Bucky’s shoulder. He couldn’t stifle his sharp intake of breath, or help the way his hands clenched in fear. Taking in Bucky’s reaction, Stark’s eyes narrowed. 

“My Russian is a bit rusty,” he continued, “but as best I can tell, this is an instruction manual. There’s a whole section on that fascinating metal arm of yours -- looking forward to digging through that. And then there’s this list of random words.” Stark’s pronunciation was flawless as he read out “< Longing ... rusted ... furnace .... daybreak>”

Bucky fell to his knees, clapping his hands over his ears. A hoarse plea of “No, stop... no.” spilled from his lips, but it was no use. He clung desperately to the thought that Steve would be all right; whatever purpose Stark planned to put Bucky himself to, at least he wouldn’t turn the Soldier against his friends. 

Stark clapped the book shut after the fourth word. “I’ll be damned. So they do still work.” With a frown, he asked, “Who else used these?” 

Although Stark hadn’t completed the control sequence, Bucky found himself compelled to reply. “Alexander Pierce.” 

“Dead.” Stark replied flatly.

“Vasily Karpov.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Friday?” 

The AI confirmed the spelling of the general’s name in both the Cyrillic and Roman alphabets, then said, “I’ll see what I can find, Boss.” 

“Thanks, Fri. Anyone else, Barnes?” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky replied, afraid to admit failure to the man who was to be his new handler. “I was just coming out of cryo when they’d read out those words. I was still woozy and could barely see.” 

“Hrmph. Understandable.” Stark sat back and took another sip of his drink, staring into the glass as if it held the secrets of the universe for a long moment. Then he shook himself, saying, “Wait, where are my manners?” He beckoned Bucky to join him. “C’mon up, have a drink.” 

The urge to obey warred with Bucky’s desire to run, and the conflict made him stumble while going up the stairs. Tony shot out a steadying arm. “Careful, there, Sarge. Wouldn’t want you to fall on that handsome face of yours.” 

The unexpected compliment threw Bucky even further off kilter, and he muttered, “Just go ahead and finish it.” 

“Finish what?” 

“The sequence. Say the rest of the words and I’ll be under your control. Seems only fair, considering what I took from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working to wrap up some of my languishing WIPs before the end of the year - thank you for your patience and support!


End file.
